Hark The Herald Angels Sing
by Storystuff
Summary: When you live with the world's only consulting detective, teaching him Christmas is part of the package. But John will have to teach like a real Christmas Angel if he's to let Sherlock know its Christmas time at all.
1. Winter Wonderland

_**A White Christmas**_

_**Lesson 1: Enjoying snow**_

The back of Sherlock's head looked really appealing right about now. Not that that was a though that John thought of very often, but today was just another day in his 'nothing-is-ever-the-same-Will-I-ever-lead-a-normal-life?' year, except for the for the unusual fact that Sherlock had reluctantly agreed to walk to their next crime scene as the London traffic was even more backed up than normal, due to four inches of snow that had fallen overnight. It had been a cosy night in actually, not that Sherlock thought of it that way, and they had watched early festive movies on the TV with a fire that John had made himself (much to his own personal pride) roaring in the fireplace. It had been spontaneous as was most things in the 221B household, but it was nice to spend the first snow of the year with Sherlock at their own home. And it wasn't often that he saw the younger man speechless either. It had started snowing quite heavily at around 4:00 the previous day and John had been at 221B when it had started. Feeling the irresistible urge to warm up the flat, John had made some preparations for when Sherlock came back home from his usual day out, deciding that since this was first snow, he might as well spend it with Sherlock.

It had given John a certain buzz of pride as Sherlock had come in, talking about some thugs that had tried to steal the shopping on the way home (as John had eventually blackmailed Sherlock into going shopping, John presumed, judging by the snow on his coat) and to see him turn around, only to stop and simply stare in both surprise and puzzlement at the living room.

To be honest, he hadn't done much with the place, but he had set the fire going before Sherlock had come home and had opened only one set of curtains so that the snow could be seen drifting down through the glass. He'd put up Christmas lights and tinsel too, more under Mrs. Hudson's orders than his own idea, trimming up the curtain rails and mantelpiece (which was a struggle with all of Sherlock's things on there). He'd set out food too on the coffee table where their armchairs were and he'd opened and poured a bottle of wine too. He was pretty sure that this was Sherlock's first snow with _anyone _other than himself of course and John was determined to make it special, since he was also pretty sure that Sherlock wasn't the type to be too keen on Christmas _or _snow. He'd ordered Indian food in too, since Indian food had always reminded him of haphazard Christmas meals with mum, dad and Harry, and since Sherlock enjoyed taking John down to the Indian restaurant down the road from Baker Street. The TV was playing on low on some kind of Christmas shopping channel but John could still hear the pricing on an incredibly expensive toastie maker even though he had set some Christmas carols playing too on the CD player. He grinned proudly as Sherlock noticed the Christmas tree box that John had put in the corner of the room. He hadn't had time to put it up yet, but he was planning too. He grinned wider. And then, to his dismay, Sherlock shrugged and, dumping the shopping on the kitchen table, crouched on his chair and picked out a sweet and sour rib with his fingers. John was flabbergasted and would have voiced a protest at Sherlock's show of uncaring, had it not been that he caught Sherlock's smile as he crouched onto his chair. John beamed. Sherlock really was a mystery sometimes and John was used to having to pick up on all of his little details.

Satisfied with the small gesture of happiness, and glad that Sherlock was pleased too, he sat down, filling up a popadom with pilaf rice and taking a bite. They spent most of the evening just watching TV, flicking between Miracle on 34th Street and Eastenders when the breaks came on. John asked about the thugs who Sherlock had beaten for the shopping and Sherlock had talked about his latest case, and altogether, it was a nice, ordinary night. Except from when the dead frog in the oven exploded and they had had to use the fire extinguisher to put it out as Sherlock had forgotten it was in there, but even that had been good-humoured and had spilled them into laughter when John had pulled the now fried frog from the oven. Mrs. Hudson had come in too, to ask them if they'd seen the snow outside and had taken the remote to show them the weather forecast, which had predicted snow for Christmas day, something that Mrs. Hudson was overwhelmed about.

"I haven't seen snow on Christmas day for years!" she said and had gone about her business humming Silent Night as she left. All in all, first snow had been a success.

However, despite the fact that everyone had enjoyed themselves the night before, Sherlock was, much to John's surprise after his effort at making light of the downpour of snow, unimpressed with the whole idea of snow. He had wrapped up in his usual coat, gloves and scarf (the scarf having been eventually found under the sofa) and had headed off immediately to the crime scene, a place that Sherlock hoped was both warm and dry.

"I still don't see the attraction of cold weather John," he had said grumpily as they had set off, "It's cold and wet." John had thought about that for a moment. "Well, I don't know, I think it's just 'cos you can get cosied up when you're not out in it really," John said, attempting to explain. That was really the only reason that _he _liked cold weather. "You can get home, and put some cosies on, cosy up with people you love and just watch the snow come down. It's just kind of… cosy I guess" he said.

"I got the cosy part thanks," Sherlock said. John shrugged. He had always enjoyed nights in with family when it snowing, especially as a child. Of course now, the cold made his shoulder seize up, but John only found that all the more reason to wrap up and he had taken to putting a hot water bottle on his shoulder when he got home, to stop it seizing up as much.

He had been quite surprised to find a hot water bottle already in the cupboard actually, as after all of his experiences with the younger man, he had never imagined Sherlock to be the kind of guy to be in possession of something as 'trivial' as a hot water bottle. When he'd asked Sherlock about it, he had simply said that it had been a gift from Mrs. Hudson and that the blanket had been from Mycroft. John had frowned at that, he had never even seen the blanket, but sure enough it had been tucked up safely behind the sofa.

"I can't think when I'm cold" Sherlock explained. Since then, Sherlock had usually filled up the hot water bottle before John came home on an evening from work and John had gratefully kept it against his shoulder to ease the stiffness. He had been quite surprised the first time to see the hot water bottle filled up on the side and had been alarmed to find that Sherlock being Sherlock had burned himself when he had spilled hot water, but he had taken to trusting Sherlock with the kettle and was quietly happy about Sherlock's caring concern for John's aching shoulder. John had also come home once to see Sherlock, much to his amusement, huddled in Mycroft's big fluffy blanket, typing away on his laptop with his knees curled up to his chin as usual, obviously having been sat there with the blanket for ages.

Since then they had worked out an unspoken arrangement that if the hot water bottle was John's, then the blanket was Sherlock's. It was usually when they were sat like this, watching crap TV (usually Sherlock's choice of Jeremy Kyle or Eastenders) when John thought of what Sherlock had been like before John had met him. If he stretched his imagination a little bit, he could imagine Sherlock sat there on his own, the flat being cold, since he had admitted recently he could never be bothered with heating bills, wrapped up in his blanket all by himself. He imagined that that was how Sherlock had spent Christmas Eve, if he hadn't been chasing some criminal somewhere which was probably more likely, curled up, oblivious to the fact that everywhere else people were celebrating, in warm cosy houses with Christmas lights and friends and _people. _He didn't like thinking about this. It broke his heart to think that while he had spent every Christmas with loved ones, Sherlock had had no-one to share it with. But not this year, John thought. He wasn't overly fussed about not seeing Harry but he hoped that she came down to see him at some point. He'd like to introduce her to Sherlock, even if he wasn't too sure about the decision of letting him speak to close-ish family members before he taught him the value of respecting someone's relationships. But to be honest, he didn't really have many other people that he really wanted to see this Christmas, apart from Sarah of course. And so really, he had decided that his main priority this Christmas was to stick by Sherlock. It was after all, in a way, John guessed, Sherlock's first ever actual Christmas.

Right now however, John was pondering how enticing the back of Sherlock's head looked. It was a bit of a strange thought, he caught himself thinking, but it was mainly because he had an irresistible urge to throw a snowball at him. He wasn't sure if Sherlock even understood the concept of a snowball, it appeared that he didn't see the point in anything to do with snow, but the temptation was just too great for even John to resist. Ducking down he hummed in agreement to something that Sherlock had said, something about not understanding the big deal over setting up Christmas lights (this Christmas thing had obviously riled him) and scooped up a big patch of snow, rolling it into a ball between his gloves. Humming innocently, he waited until he was right behind Sherlock before he threw the ball right at the back of his head and tried suppressing a laugh. Unfortunately it turned into hysterics when Sherlock turned around, his face a strange mixture of shock and indignation, meaning that John didn't stop laughing for a full two minutes and had to prop himself up on some side railings. Every time he looked at Sherlock, and saw the tufts of snow covered hair, he couldn't help but laugh.

When John finally stopped laughing he dared a glance at Sherlock, whose facial expression had changed to… John sobered up immediately. Sherlock looked…hurt. In fact, he looked really upset and John immediately took a step towards him, hoping that there had been no ice in the ball or anything. He'd only meant it as a bit of fun.

"Hey," he said, putting a hand on Sherlock's arm, "Are you okay?" Sherlock shrugged but he still looked disgruntled as he turned to walk away.

"Hey, Sherlock, I only meant it as a bit of fun you know". John hurried after him

"If I offended you in some way John then you should have just said something"

"What, wait, Sherlock…"

"I would have apologised straight away, there was no need to throw snow at me,"

"Wait, Sherlock. Hang on, no you wouldn't have apologised. You never apologise" John said, unable to stop himself, but Sherlock bristled as the words came out and John winced at his insensitivity

"I would have _tried _if I only knew what I had done wrong," Sherlock said, still looking mightily disgruntled.

And that was when it hit him. John stopped walking and stared at Sherlock, who was still walking away.

"Hold on a minute. You mean to say that you've never had a snowball thrown you before? You think… you think it's because of something you've done?" John said, hurrying to catch up with Sherlock, unable to stop the grin that was starting to form on his face.

"Obviously." Sherlock said and turned at the end of the road.

"It's only a snowball Sherlock, I…"

"We're here" Sherlock announced, cutting John off.

They had arrived outside the crime scene, a small city house, the Christmas lights outside still turned on and glowing in the cold air. Sherlock appraised the building and made his way down the path, scanning the floor in his usual manner.

"Having a merry Christmas freak?" a voice said from the doorway. Sherlock looked up at the same time as John to see Sally Donavon, stood in the doorway, looking disapprovingly at the detective.

"I assume that you and Anderson have been having a _very _good Christmas sergeant Donavon, judging by your hair this morning" Sherlock said, cuttingly, "Did Anderson leave for the Cotswolds this morning or has he gone home to pack first? I assume his wife is going with him?" Sherlock looked mightily pleased with himself when John raised his eyebrows in a "oh really?" kind of way behind him.

Sally looked taken aback but soon recovered herself. "Lestraude's inside freak," she said, holding up the police tape on the door, "Try not to ruin anything"

"As ever Sally" Sherlock said and bounded through the doorway. Inside was like any other house John had seen. It was large, but comfortable, with modern white walling and tasteful décor. He watched as Sherlock stood in the doorway, taking a Christmas card off of a clip by the tiny window in the hall, the only Christmas card on the hanger it seemed, and looked at it, opened it up, and then returned it to its original place.

"Sherlock," Lestraude said. John looked to see him striding up the hallway. "About time you arrived," he said, "Anderson isn't here so you'll be working in peace I suppose". He paused. "You have snow in your hair Sherlock." Sherlock let out a noise akin to a growl. "Really Lestraude," he said, his voice dripping with menace. He jabbed a thumb savagely behind him to indicate John. "_He _made us walk here. And _he,_" he said, jabbing his thumb at John again, "threw snow at me". Lestraude smirked and let out a muffled sound of laughter.

"It is not funny!" Sherlock all but roared and walked past Lestraude.

"Where's the body?" he asked, but by the time Lestraude had said the word "upstairs" he was already halfway up the flight. John sighed and decided not to bother asking him how he knew that the body had been upstairs, let alone asking him why he stopped to look inside the bathroom and the study when they reached the second floor, or how he knew where the bedroom was without asking. Instead, he just followed him.

They arrived in a large, very tasteful bedroom, assumedly the only bedroom in the house. There was bright white light coming in through the window which lit up the soft pink walls and cream carpet that was surrounding a charming four poster bed with cottage like white bedding. The room was festively trimmed in with silver tinsel and a tall, thin Christmas tree in the corner, all of which would have struck John as very nice, if not for the dead woman lying in a pool of blood in the doorway, the scarlet having soaked into carpet and had dried, becoming a carmine brown colour. Sherlock bent down, and smelt the woman's sleeve. John was concerned to see a certain glint in Sherlock's eye that only ever came with smelling dead bodies. It was worrying. Sherlock stood up…and sighed.

"Boring." He said. Lestraude looked at him as if he'd been struck. "Sherlock! There is a woman lying dead!" John shot a wolfish grin at Sherlock as he realised that the words echoed his own in their first case together, but Sherlock hadn't looked round, which John thought was unusual. Sherlock usually glanced at John when he found something funny; to share it with John, but it seemed as if Sherlock was purposefully ignoring his eye.

"Quite correct Lestraude" he said, straightening up a little, "However the motives and killer of this unfortunate lady are quite mundane. Very unoriginal." Lestraude gave Sherlock a clueless look, and when he looked at John, he saw that John was wearing much the same kind of look himself. Sherlock still had his back turned and so didn't notice them exchange clueless glances.

"The card downstairs is from a man named Mark. There are no family photographs or wedding rings, and she works at home, her study shows her collection of recipes, and a collection of cookbooks written by her are on her shelf if the name on the card is to be believed, so she's an author, so doesn't have work colleagues either. So then…who's Mark?" Sherlock seemed to be enjoying himself, his question sounding almost teasing of the woman. "The shaver in the bathroom, obviously not hers judging by the state of it, her house is immaculate, she'd never leave a razor like that on the sink side, so she had a male visitor. Only one card-only one male-Mark. So Mark was at her house, and had obviously stayed the night if he took a shave the morning after"  
John blinked, trying to take in all of the information. "So, she has a boyfriend? The boyfriend did it?" he said, trying not to stutter in surprise over the words. Four months of living with Sherlock and he still managed to shock him speechless. _It's a little sad really, _John thought to himself. However, John felt himself being crushed as Sherlock turned around and gave them both a withering look.

"Is it nice being you? The world must be so nice, are fairies real there too?" he said mockingly, "Of course the boyfriend didn't do it, no motive!" Sherlock threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"She could have been cheating on him?" John offered, looking to Lestraude who nodded in agreement.

"He's the one with the wife, why would he care if she was seeing anyone? And have you not seen the carpet? Like I said, no motive, can we get back to the killer now please?" Sherlock said.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! He has a wife? How do you know that? And what about the carpet?" Lestraude said, receiving another derisive look from Sherlock.

"Males generally don't buy women Christmas cards anyway, but one like that? It's neither a terrible choice like he would choose on his own nor something romantic like a boyfriend would choose so he took it from his wife's collection. Not girlfriend, she wouldn't have left expensive cards like that out, so wife. Also the card smells vaguely of perfume where it's been kept on her dresser. And now, now's the clever bit."

John's mind whirled. Everything made complete sense when he summed it up, but whenever John tried to do it, it never worked. And what did he mean, here's the clever bit? If this was clever, then what was the rest of it? He forced himself to focus. For all he knew, Sherlock wasn't happy with him as it was, so not keeping up would only make it worse.

"Go on," Lestraude said, sounding as resigned as John felt.

"Sniff," Sherlock said, and took John by the shoulder, lifted the woman's sleeve up and pressed John's nose to the fabric of the woman's jacket.

"Sherlock!" John yelped, outraged, pulling away, but not before getting a whiff of the woman's perfume. "If that's your revenge for me throwing a snowball at you then I'm putting that dead frog in your bed!" He stepped back, appalled, swapping glances with a confused Lestraude.

"See!" Sherlock cried, "John, you smelt it didn't you!"

"Smell what? Her perfume?" he said, wiping his nose with his own sleeve. How Sherlock went around smelling dead bodies he'd never know.

"Not just any perfume John!" he cried, "It was _her perfume._"

"The wife's?" Lestraude said, sounding surprised.

"She caught her by the sleeve when she stabbed her!" Sherlock cried, before practically jumped to point out the marks in the carpet. "And look!" he yelled "High heel marks in the carpet! The victim wouldn't wear shoes in the house, not with this amount of cleanliness, and those heels… expensive…" He bent down to look at them, stretching the marks a little with his fingers, measuring them, and whipping out his magnifier to look more closely at them.

"Gucci" he said finally, "Of course. Not the shoes of a little known cookbook writer. So who buys expensive Christmas cards, has expensive shoes and that perfume?" he asked.

"The wife" Lestraude said.

"I love Christmas" Sherlock said, grinning. John assumed that he was referring to the Christmas card that had given away their killer.

"I'll go get some evidence bags." Lestraude said, and left.

There was silence for a moment as Sherlock and John appraised the body, Sherlock looking chuffed, John feeling sorry for the woman who had been killed…and so near to Christmas too.

"It wasn't revenge either John" Sherlock stated finally, his face turning deadly serious, "You're still not forgiven. It was a horrible thing to do." John felt his own face crumple a little.

"Oh come on Sherlock," he whined, "It was only a bit of fun!"

"Fun? What part of throwing snow at me is fun?" John decided not to answer that. Sherlock turned on his heel in a huff, and began to walk away, down the stairs of the house again.

"Oh come on Sherlock, I said I was sorry!" John said, walking after him, discovering that his limp had started showing itself a little. Combining the already imbedded feelings of guilt with the cold and John was already facing a recipe for a pained Christmas. _Recipe _he thought grimly, and shook his head at the thought of the dead woman. And Sherlock was worried about a snowball? He had had deadly killers after him for years, especially at Christmas when Sherlock described crime as 'rife' and he was angry over a snowball? There was no getting through to this man sometimes.

"Look, I really am sorry Sherlock I just…" John passed Lestraude on the stairs who raised both eyebrows in a look that said exactly: _Are you having a little domestic? _John rolled his eyes. Now even Lestraude was making him feel guilty.

He saw Sally taking photographs in the kitchen and carried on, finally bursting out of the house into the cold, snowy front garden.

"Sherlock…" he began. Then stopped. Sherlock wasn't there. He looked around, but still saw no sign of him. Had he left already, without him? As revenge? Had he been really upset and gone off somewhere? He looked around again. And suddenly cried out in shock as something huge and absolutely freezing was shoved down his back. He yelped and spun around as Sherlock let go of his shirt collar and tipped the rest of the snow down his back. Sherlock on the other hand was on the floor by the time John turned around, giggling breathlessly and when John cried "Sherlock!" in outrage, Sherlock went into hysterics, practically hyperventilating as John ranted at him. "I thought you were angry you idiot!" John cried, noticing Sally looking at them oddly through the open doorway as she went upstairs. He kicked snow at Sherlock, who was still laughing unable to control himself as John tried to twist out of the snow in the back of his shirt.

"Sherlock you fool!" he cried as Sherlock began to gain control over his laughter.

"Of course…" Sherlock said breathlessly, "Of course I know…what a snowball is!" he said.

"You mean," John said, collecting up some snow on the ground, "You were never angry with me?"

"I played my part rather well don't you think?" Sherlock said, sobered up for a moment before he went into hysterics again.

John raised his snowball.

"Now, now John, we mustn't throw snowballs at a crime scene," Sherlock said, attempting to feign seriousness. Beginning to laugh too, John threw the snowball at him, which Sherlock dodged, throwing one of his own, and for the next half hour, they cleared the garden of snow, throwing snowballs at each other, dodging the missiles, laughing until their sides hurt and eventually Lestraude came out to see them, Sally in tow, in an intense snowball volley between them. And so began all out war. John and Sherlock faced off Sally and Lestraude, and all in all, Sherlock later reflected as he sat in his armchair that night, the TV blaring crap shopping channels, sipping on cocoa with John at his side, it had also been the greatest patch of snow Sherlock had ever been in.

Lesson 1: How to enjoy the snow.

Complete.


	2. Rocking around the Christmas tree

Okay, finally managed to get some author's notes sorted so firstly:

_Disclaimer: As with the first chapter, I unfortunately don't own Sherlock or its characters. Oh, how I wish it were so :-) _

_Thanks to:_

_EzzBomb2010: Thank you so much for reviewing, you've no idea how much reviews mean to me! If you still want to read more, here it is :-) _

_XMillieX: Your review made me SO happy! Thank you! And just for you, John is hysterical once more _

_Emloha: Hey L! I think this chapter's sweeter, I got warm fuzzies writing this one :-D _

_And a note: I don't intend any slash in this fanfic, but you're welcome to infer what you want. But only friendship was supposed to be written. _

_If anyone wants to review after this, please do! I'd love any reviews at all. _

_**Rocking around the Christmas Tree**_

_**Lesson 2: Putting up the Christmas tree**_

"John, what an earth are you going to do with this?"

John stopped unpacking his shopping and looked over to where Sherlock was standing, noticing Sherlock's hand on the Christmas tree box.

"I forgot we had it," John admitted, walking over. "I guess we should put it up really," he said, putting his hand on the lid to steady it as Sherlock gave him a shocked look before losing interest and went to sit on his chair.

"_I _don't want to put up anything," Sherlock said, "It's you who wants to put it up. I myself see no reason to put up such a ridiculous thing". John's mouth dropped open.

"But it's a _Christmas tree _Sherlock," he said, disbelieving, "It's not like we're going to be setting up a rainforest in our living room or anything for heaven's sake. And it's a _Christmas tree. _You can't say you've never had a Christmas tree up before". Sherlock shrugged, "Mycroft was allergic to the real trees, mother hated them and father was always working. We never had time" he said blandly.

"But its _Christmas_" John said incredulously.

"The time of year doesn't affect the family we live in John." At which Sherlock turned up the volume on the shopping channel.

John gaped. It was just plain _weird _that Sherlock had never had a Christmas tree. Everyone he knew had a Christmas tree. Harry had a silver one in her house; Sarah had a huge, well decorated real one, Mrs. Hudson had one downstairs, Donovan had had a Tesco's bag of gold baubles in her hand when he had seen her on their latest case and he was pretty sure that Lestraude had one too for all he knew. But when he thought about it, _of course _Sherlock had never had a Christmas tree. He hadn't seen one anywhere in the flat when he had moved in and Sherlock had probably never seen the practical use in them.

"Well we're putting one up now," John said, lifting the tree onto the sofa, "You might have never had one, but I certainly have and we're setting it up" he said, trying to sound decisive. It must not have worked very well as Sherlock smirked at his efforts at being assertive.

"Yes sir," he said mockingly, giving a cheeky salute in John's direction. That was when John whacked him round the head with a slipper. "I mean it Sherlock!" he said, "If no one else is going to be festive round you, I certainly am. It's just not normal to not have a Christmas tree up at Christmas if you can! You just… do." John had noticed lately how everyone's usually cheery Christmas demeanour had been crushed by Sherlock and John felt that it was his duty to at last try to get Sherlock in the festive mood. It wasn't just a tree after all; it was a tradition wasn't it?

"Well," Sherlock said, getting up and appraising the box, "You may not have noticed but I am not exactly normal". He lifted the lid on the box. "You got a real one?" Sherlock asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah," John said with a sigh. It sounded like Sherlock had left the subject of not having a tree, and John couldn't help with give a grin to himself. 1-0, he thought. It wasn't often that Sherlock denied him anything, but he was still chuffed to bits about getting the tree up. "It was a nightmare getting it in the box to take back. The taxi driver gave me a right look; I bet he thought I was crazy". Sherlock chuckled and picked up the box. "Come on then," he said, "Help me get this ridiculous thing out." John grinned, pulling out the tree as Sherlock held on for dear life to the box.

After much of a struggle and much arguing about placement, they finally set the tree by the sofa, but not in the corner as Sherlock argued "If I'm going to keep the cigarettes away over Christmas I don't want pine needles and that ridiculous smell all over the top of the sofa while I'm concentrating on my breathing. It's counter productive. I might as well just take up the nicotine again." At that, John had moved the tree to the other side of the sofa. The last thing John wanted was Sherlock on nicotine _and _narcotics, he had only just managed to find and hide Sherlock's latest stash of narcotics over the Christmas period and he wasn't about to let him ruin his smoking habit either over a Christmas tree, especially since Sherlock still managed to get himself supplied with the drugs, even after John voicing his disapproval many a time. He had taken to hiding Sherlock's stash merely a month after meeting him and was used to Sherlock going into rages from withdrawal, but John had been an army doctor for far too many years to not be able to handle anyone with drug withdrawal. It had caused many a fight between them, Sherlock had even lashed out at him sometimes, but John was still adamant: no drugs in the flat.

For now however, the best thing that could do was to move the tree.

"Done" Sherlock said, "Is that it?" John looked at him incredulously.

"You really never have had a Christmas tree before have you?"

"I think you've finally got it" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. John rolled his eyes and went to fetch the plastic bags from where the box had been, and showed the contents to Sherlock

"You have got to be joking me" Sherlock said blandly, staring at the silver baubles and blue Christmas tree lights.

"Nope" John said, grinning.

"John, it's a _tree. _I find it highly unusual that you want to decorate a _tree. _A tree that is in our home nonetheless."

"Yes. And? It's Christmas."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow again and grumbled something about 'ridiculous Christmas traditions' but took a handful of baubles anyway.

"So you just hang them on the tree?" Sherlock said, tentatively hanging one on a branch. John felt like he was teaching a kid how to dress up a tree. "Yup. Need the lights on first though" he said.

"Oh John, please tell me you haven't got any terrible flashing ones" Sherlock said.

"No Sherlock I haven't, I'm not that bad a decorator you know."

"And not too bright?"

"No Sherlock, they're not too bright, I know what you're like." It was true that Sherlock Holmes, for all of his eccentric activeness, was not too fond of the light when it came to a particularly long stint of not having cases, when Sherlock was used to having the curtains drawn constantly, until John ripped them open in a frenzied need for light.

"Hold this," John said, offering the end of the lights to Sherlock, who obeyed quietly, hlding lightly onto the string of bulbs as John untangled them.

"Didn't you decorate at all then? Even when you were living on your own?" John asked, throwing the lights over the tree, and fiddling with a few of the bulbs to mak sure that they were tight enough before continuing with the other pair of lights. Sherlock shook his head.

"Never had time" Sherlock said, "Crime runs rife at Christmas John, criminals never stop. It seems unusual that I should"

"Righto Sherlock, baubles," John said tossing him some. He grabbed the TV remote from the sofa and put on the music channel, the sound of 'Merry Christmas Everyone' coming out quietly in the background.

Sherlock smiled a little. "You're enthusiasm really confounds me John" he said, hanging a bauble. John smirked. Sherlock might not have meant to show it, but he had looked pretty chuffed about putting that bauble up. It was strange. John had put up his Christmas tree loads of times, but this was a new experience for Sherlock.

"Are you supposed to be putting them on evenly John?" Sherlock said, pointing out the bunch that John had put on the tree so absentmindedly, "There's a ratio of 3:1 baubles compared to the amount of branches so…"

A bauble hit Sherlock in the side of the side of the head. "Ow!" he cried, throwing one back.

"Don't criticize my decorating!" John exclaimed, pulling one of Sherlock's baubles off the tree and standing on the sofa so that the ball was out of Sherlock's reach, "It's not about them being even Sherlock, just dump them on, they'll look fine!"

"Not if you carry on clumping them like that" Sherlock said, returning to his work. John raised an eyebrow. Ducking behind the sofa, he pulled out the item that he'd been saving. He wasn't sure if Sherlock would like him for it, but it was now or never. Running up behind him, John pulled the hat from behind his back and dumped it on Sherlock's head where it sat amidst his curls.

"Hey!" Sherlock cried, lifting his hands to remove the hat but stopping when he realised that John was on the floor. In hysterics. Again.

"What?" Sherlock cried, rushing to the mirror. "Oh, you have to be kidding me!" John heard him cry from the hallway, sending him into uncontrollable giggles once more.

"John, this is a Santa hat!" he cried as he stormed back into the room, only increasing the velocity of John's giggling.

"John, you sound like a schoolgirl, quit laughing, you put it on me!"

"You look…You look ridiculous!" John guffawed, descending into the laughter again.

"Oh really?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow, "Okay then…"

He set off for the kitchen, leaving John still rolling around in hysterics on the floor. A moment later he returned and John, finally beginning to sober up, saw him hang something unceremoniously on the tree.

"What the-Sherlock!" John cried, getting up, "You can't put a test tube on a Christmas tree!" John looked disbelievingly at the test tube, still filled with gooey green liquid, tied with a red ribbon, as it sat in the midst of the tree branches.

"Why not? It's an ornament?"

"But…but… It's a _test tube _Sherlock. You do experiments in it" John said in disbelief. Sherlock took a step back to carefully appraise the glass container.

"I think it looks rather charming" he said.

Rolling his eyes and sighing, John reached for the test tube.

"Hey!" he cried, as Sherlock's had shot out, slapping John's away from the new ornament. "You can't just leave it-"

"I wear the hat, you keep the tubes. Simples" Sherlock said. John's mouth dropped open. "You're going to wear that thing?" he said, amazed.

"Yup" Sherlock said, giving his head a shake. "As long as you keep the test tubes on the Christmas tree" John laughed. Then became suddenly serious. "Hold on a minute," he said, "Test _tubes_? In plural? How many-" Sherlock held up an armful of test tubes and grinned. "Plural John, yes" he said, handing John several tubes before humming "The twelve days of Christmas" merrily to himself as he hung the test tubes, leaving John to sigh and put the rest of the insane ornaments on the true.

* * *

They eventually drew at a compromise on most of the items that decorated their new tree. John kept the tubes, Sherlock kept the hat. Despite not being overly religious, John got to put up his father's little clay nativity scene on the coffee table in return for Sherlock's command over the TV to watch a documentary on the disappearance of the Mary Rose even though it did run over one of John's Christmas cooking shows. John put silver tinsel on the end of Sherlock's bed, Sherlock managed to persuade John not to make him eat sprouts at Christmas dinner. John had eventually put on a Santa hat himself, which had make Sherlock grin from ear to ear and, most embarrassingly, after a few glasses of eggnog had danced a jig wholeheartedly to "I wish it could e Christmas every day", much to Sherlock's amusement.

"I'll let you swap my clothes with a Santa suit if you don't make me go to Mycroft's Christmas Eve." Sherlock had said at some point between putting the string of berries on the mantle and actually filling the coal scuttle. John barked with laughter at the thought of Sherlock in a Santa suit. For a moment, he actually considered it too, but there must have been a pretty good reason why Sherlock would go to such levels and John always found exchanges between the brothers hilarious, so he had settled with a simple "No, it's alright Sherlock, I'm looking forward to seeing your family". John was pretty sure watching the two brothers bickering _again _at _Christmas _no less was going to be far more entertaining than anything Sherlock could offer him. And knowing Sherlock, he'd probably look good in a Santa suit.

John had, however, drawn the line at Sherlock's comment between the third set of broken lights and the Christmas candle.

"That star looks ridiculous" Sherlock said, nodding to the blue star at the top of the tree, "Blue stars are most ridiculous. It looks tacky, look it's even covered in glitter."

John raised an eyebrow. "It matches the lights Sherlock, leave it alone". A few moments later Sherlock had said, "We could put my skull up there you know". John had gaped at that.

"Oh do close your mouth John, you look like a fish." Sherlock had snickered. John jumped into action. "Sherlock, Sherlock the star is supposed to represent the star of Bethlehem and Christmas and-"

"You're not even religious!" Sherlock cried.

"It doesn't matter; you can't put a skull on the top of the Christmas tree!" John said

"But you don't mind test tubes though?" Sherlock smirked.

"What-no-Sherlock!" But by this time, Sherlock had already vaulted the sofa and was on his way to the fireplace.

"Wait, no, Sherlock!" John shouted, vaulting after him. Sherlock grabbed the skull and dashed around John, who grabbed Sherlock's skull arm, which pulled him off balance and sent them both crashing into the sofa. Sherlock was at the upper hand, pushing John into the sofa as he tried to make a getaway with his skull, but John holding his back with his arms thrown around Sherlock in an attempt to stop him from reaching the Christmas tree. John, using a particularly favourable army lock, threw Sherlock to ground, off the sofa, Sherlock landing with an "oof!" on the ground, John already kneeling around his chest, tugging the skull from his hand, but Sherlock was clinging on for dear life to the skull, laughing breathlessly. Sherlock grinned. "Criminals use army locks too you know John," Sherlock said and lifted his legs up quickly, sending John toppling headfirst over and away from him. Laughing victoriously, Sherlock ran towards the Christmas tree and by the time John got there, it was too late. Held annoyingly at arms length with a frustrating hand on his head, John saw Sherlock put the skull in the star's place, and nicking John's hat before releasing him to put it poignantly on the top of the skull's head.

"There" he said, panting a little. John jumped to try and get the skull, but being shorter than Sherlock, who was blatantly refusing to give him a leg up as they had done to get the star up in the first place, John sulked a little at the fact that the skull was, for now, a permanent resident at the top of the tree now. John looked at Sherlock, who beamed at him.

"See, told you it'd look nice" Sherlock said, grinning. John made a little "pht" noise that turned into a chuckle. "Impossible" John said as Sherlock grinned adamantly at him.

"As ever" Sherlock said, smiling.

* * *

"Sherlock? I got you that shampoo you were wanting from Morrisons. I hope it's the right one" Mrs. Hudson opened the door into 221B Baker Street and gave a little gasp as she entered. The tree was certainly new, and the new additions of wreaths, and ever more tinsel, and a large array of Christmas decorations. What Mrs. Hudson hadn't expected was the skull and Christmas hat on the tree, the string of what looked like human hands and feet hanging festively over the cooker (this had been the moment when John had officially declared himself insane for ever even meeting Sherlock), the test tubes and other random experimental appliances in the tree and most of all, the two sleeping men on the sofa. Mrs. Hudson craned to see the figures that were lying crumpled looking on the settee, attempting to distinguish the two men that had fallen asleep on the sofa.

Sherlock seemed to be on the right, and Mrs. Hudson smiled at the locks poking out from under the skewed Christmas hat, his arm inadvertently around another figure. It was a lot like Sherlock to subconsciously hug things in his sleep and the doctor must have been the comfiest thing around because snuggled up next to him was Dr. John Watson, sleeping soundly, one hand on a bottle of eggnog, the other bunched up under his chin. Mrs. Hudson assumed for the odd sleeping arrangements that the two men had fallen asleep watching the soap that was on the still playing TV and had ended up falling to Sherlock's side of the sofa and hadn't yet woken up. Either that or Mrs. Hudson was right about them not needing two bedrooms. Putting the shampoo on the side, she went out. Sometimes, it was better not to ask. Especially when your tenants are hanging dead body parts in the kitchen. It was definitely better.

Lesson 2: How to put up a Christmas tree

Complete.


	3. Driving home for Christmas

_Lot of dialogue in this chapter guys so it's a bit longer!_

_I was up until the wee hours of the morning writing this *tired eyes* I'll be posting 2 more chapters after this 'fingers crossed': one tomorrow on Christmas day (actually more like Christmas day night actually) and then the final instalment on Boxing Day._

_A few mentions:_

_XMillieX: Thanks _again _for reviewing; it's so nice of you! Glad you're still enjoying it! Have a very merry Christmas day and a happy New Year! And you called me a genius! AHH! Thank you so much!_

_Hyper Kid007: Here's the new chapter, 2 more to go! Thanks for your review :-) and a very Merry Christmas to you to and a Happy New Year as well! Hope you get everything you want for Christmas! _

_EzzBomb2010: I'll try to update every day for these 3 last ones :-) Thanks for all of your reviews and I am SO glad you like it! Thank you and have a very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!_

_L: Do you think the Santa hat was a little OOC? Maybe, I don't know, but it's too cute not to add in! You already have my Christmas wishes so I just hope Santa fetches us both some awesome fanfics for Christmas!_

_Wow, that's a long section! Anywhos, to everyone else, Merry, merry Christmas and I hope you all have a fantastic New Year!_

_**Driving home for Christmas**_

_**Lesson 3: Visiting the family**_

"Sherlock, it's only going to be for five minutes okay?" John said for what felt like the thousandth time. Sherlock had been complaining ever since they had left Baker Street about going to visit Mycroft at Christmas.

"I _never _visit Mycroft at Christmas" he said for the fifth time since that morning.

"Sherlock, it's not like you're having to stay long or anything. I don't want to see Harry either but I have to". In fact they were on the train now to go see Harry. John hadn't even planned to see her, he had planned to make an excuse that he was busy or something, but then Mycroft had showed up. In fact no, John thought as he looked back on it, he had been taken to see him _again _by another black car to some godforsaken warehouse on the other side of London. Of all things, he was having words with Mycroft about this when he saw him.

"Hello again Dr. Watson" Mycroft said, offering John a seat, which he eloquently declined.

"I was wondering if we could have a little chat about my little brother Sherlock" he said, swinging his umbrella counter clockwise. _Of course, _John had thought, _who else? _

"And we couldn't have had this chat somewhere public, why?" John asked.

"Sherlock has a knack of finding out things. I want this kept between you and me John"

"Want what keeping?" John asked, feeling tired already from his 'little chat' with Mycroft. The eldest Holmes brother did tend to have a wearing effect on the ex military doctor. Mycroft Holmes sat down heavily in a chair and drew swirls on the ground with his umbrella.

"Sherlock hasn't come home for Christmas in over five years." Mycroft said, sounding almost depressed about the subject, "And Mummy hasn't heard from him in over seven years. It's not that he dislikes her you understand, he just prefers to spend his time elsewhere." John could believe that, Sherlock often forgot about him, never mind anyone else.

"And I thought," Mycroft continued glumly, "That with you being around you might be able to change his mind" John gave a small 'pha!" noise and looked at him in amazement. "Your secret service and you can't even get your own brother to come home for Christmas?" he said, watching as Mycroft nodded despondently, "And you expect me to do it?"

Mycroft looked up at him. "I don't care how you do it Dr. Watson, if you have to drag him to the house or not, it's only right that Sherlock comes home for Christmas just once in a while. I'm prepared to pay handsomely for you to do it" he said, taking out his chequebook in a resigned, surrendered sort of way that completely obliterated any of the authority he'd shown in his short little speech.

"I'll do it anyway," John said, waving a hand, "If Sherlock hasn't been home in that long, and he's obviously not made any plans for this year either, I guess it's the best I can do to get him to come."

Mycroft looked at him, stunned. "You'll do it then?" he said, regaining his composure.

"I don't really see that I have a choice," John said, "Either I persuade him to come or you'll end up getting the secret services or something to snatch him off Baker Street."

Standing up, Mycroft rose to shake his hand. "I do hope he comes home" Mycroft said, "He does know how it upsets Mummy". And with that, he had walked away, umbrella still twirling in his hand.

"Did Mycroft put you up to it then?" Sherlock had said as John had come in. Those were the first words Sherlock had said to John as he had finally come in after one hell of a day.

"Put me up to what?" John said innocently, trying to throw Sherlock off the scent. It didn't work. Instead, Sherlock just looked up from his newspaper and gave John the most withering look he had ever given him. Deadpanning immediately, John nodded once.

"Yup"

"I see. When?"

f"Whenever you're free"

"Never then"

"You're going Sherlock, that's all there is to it." Sherlock had raised an eyebrow at that. "I think not" he said.

"Look, Sherlock, he's asked me to bring you home for Christmas, that's all, just ten minutes, he's not asking you to stay"

"Don't care"

"Sherlock, all it is is going home just once for Christmas. It's really not too much to ask"

"I am home" Sherlock said, gesturing in a general reference to the flat. John sighed. He really hadn't wanted to do this, but if Sherlock was going to be stubborn then there wasn't much else that John could do.

"You know I promised to go on those shipment raids for that illegal drug syndicate in January Sherlock?" he said, feeling guilty already. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously. "Yes?" Then he stopped, looking shocked at John. "You won't go unless I visit mother and Mycroft I presume?" John nodded, wincing with guilt. It was out of character for him to blackmail someone, especially a friend, but he had made a promise to a rather downhearted Mycroft that he'd get Sherlock home for Christmas.

Sherlock was looking thoughtful. "But you'll go with me if I visit them?" he said. John nodded. He hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but Sherlock had eventually persuaded him into going.

"As long as you go home" he said. Sherlock seemed to consider. "If I'm going to see Mycroft, your going to see Harry" he had said and flapped his newspaper. Apparently that had been the end of the matter.

And it was also how they ended up on a train to visit John Watson's only sibling Harriet Watson.

"I don't like visiting Harry either, so you'll just have to bear Mycroft if you like him or not"

Sherlock grumbled a little under his breath.

They arrived at Harry's town at around 12:30 and caught a cab to her house.

"Now, Sherlock, please _please _don't deduce anything bad about my sister. I don't care if she's as drunk as a lord or who she's sleeping with, just keep it nice okay. She is my sister Sherlock whether I like it or not, so please?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I can't promise anything John" he said blandly. John glared at him, and reluctantly, Sherlock nodded. "If you find out anything bad the hard way John, don't blame me"

"To be honest with you Sherlock, I don't really care who she's with or what she does. I just stay in touch when I can." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Right. And remind me again why we're focused on _my _family all the time, when yours seems just as bad?"

"Because you can practically tell my whole family tree from my jeans and I can't" John said, sighing as the taxi pulled up outside the uncomfortably familiar house. John stared at it disdainfully. He hadn't been to Harry's at Christmas for the past 2 years, but he'd at least seen her this year. That however did not change the fact that John really, really didn't want to go.

"You coming?" Sherlock said, already outside. John snapped back into alertness and nodded getting out.

"Oh, and accepting alcohol from Harry is probably a bad idea too. You drink the stuff and she'll want you stay for hours." John said.

"Duly noted" Sherlock said, smirking as John glared at him. Sighing, John buzzed at the door bell.

"I really hope she's not in" he said, glumly. Sherlock grinned.

The door swung open and Harry Watson stood in the doorway. Like her brother, Harriet Watson seemed to be quite ordinary looking individual, Sherlock observed, and was in fact, very much like her brother in many respects. She was blonde, a shade that was a little darker than John's own colour, with shoulder length straightened hair that was lying simply on her shoulders.

"John!" she cried, flinging her arms around the stunned man, almost toppling him backwards. "You never said that you were coming! Come in, come in!" she said, ushering them inside. _Tasteful, simple, practical. _These were Sherlock's initial thoughts as he entered the hallway, through the kitchen and into the lounge. Much like he had imagined in fact from what he knew of John's upbringing. He also noticed the rack of wine and spirits in the kitchen as he passed them, but he decided not to mention them, even though it broke his heart a little to see John's dismayed expression as he glimpsed the empty wine glasses on the kitchen sideboard. Sherlock felt sorry for him, John had never been a drinker and it was saddening to know that his sister's habits upset him so.

"You want anything to drink. Tea, coffee, hot chocolate? You like the Cadbury's one don't you John?" John nodded.

"I have some champagne in the fridge if you want I could-"

"No thank you Harry" John said, sitting down on the sofa, looking defeated, "Just the hot chocolate thanks." Harry looked disappointed but began busying herself in the kitchen, visible through the archway into the lounge.

"Okay, so I know I've never met you before," Harry said, "But you're the famous Mr. Holmes aren't you?". Sherlock looked up from the magazine that he had started flipping through on Harry's coffee table.

"Yes, how do did you… You read John's blog?"

"Yup," Harry said, pouring milk into a pan and getting the cocoa from the cupboard, "How else am I supposed to keep up with him? He never calls." John blushed a little and looked sheepishly at the floor when Sherlock raised a cynical eyebrow at him.

"Really?" he said

"It's probably because of you he came today," Harry said, "He probably wants you to meet me, you know, since you're living together and all"

"I see". Harry poured th hot chocolate into a cup and turned to see Sherlock.

"Do you want anything to drink Mr. Holmes? The champagne's still in the fridge, we could-"

"Harry". John shot his sister a warning look and she shied, smiling again at Sherlock.

"Cup of tea?" she said.

"That would be lovely"

A few moments later Harry set the two steaming mugs on the coffee table, pouring herself a rather full looking glass of champagne and took a deep drink. Sherlock saw John balling his hands into silently shaking fists, obviously containing his protests at Harry drinking so early in the day.

"So," Harry said, sitting down across from Sherlock and John, "John's said that you're a detective. He's been telling the wildest tales of your cases on his blog and he never emails me like he's supposed to. And apparently your living together, 221 right? Baker Street?"

"221B" Sherlock corrected, swilling his tea in his cup absent-mindedly, "And I'm a consulting detective."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Harry said, blushing much like John had been earlier. Sherlock was starting to see quite a lot of similarities between the two siblings. Both were as practical as each other, and Sherlock noticed that Harry had trimmed up for Christmas as well, assumedly with her boyfriend who was in several of her photographs that lined the mantelpiece. They had similar eye colour, but the similarities in their looks stopped there, Harry sporting thinner, more angular looking features. Her smile was different too. Perhaps a more open, wider looking smile compared to John's awkward lopsided smile. Sherlock much preferred John's smile. And of course there was the drinking. Sherlock assumed that Harry was the person John would least like to be compared to when it came to his sister's habits.

"So you too are really living together?" she said, taking another swig of her drink. Sherlock felt John silently fuming next to him.

"Ah, yes," he said, trying to keep John from saying anything too rash to his sister. Sherlock had met many alcoholics before and most of the time, it wasn't their fault. John probably knew this too, but it was different when you were related to them of course. "We share a flat. Not too expensive. Does your boyfriend live here with you?" Harry looked surprised. John put a disbelieving hand to his forehead.

"Er-um- no, he hasn't moved in"

"But he will" Sherlock said, stating it as a fact. Climbing trips, skiing, getting a car, they'd be living together within the month if the photographs on the mantel were to be believed.

"Sherlock" John said warningly. Sherlock sniffed indignantly. There was an awkward silence of a moment until Harry finally perked up with "Have you guys trimmed up the flat then?"

"Oh, yes" John said, "Last night. I see you've got dad's tree up". He gestured to the tree in the corner. Sherlock had deduced that it had been a close relative's tree. He'd guessed mother, but father was close enough.

"Oh, er, yeah. It's just, you were away and I didn't know if you'd be getting a flat big enough and-"

"It's okay," John said, smiling for the first time since he'd sat down, which was a huge relief to Sherlock "The flat probably wouldn't be big enough anyway. I got a thinner one. Real one, like."

"Yes, why did your father get a fake one? I thought with you buying a real one you'd have had them every year" Sherlock said, trying to make conversation. Conversation was good. John liked conversation, and especially it was best to keep John happy, especially around his sister.

"Mycroft's not the only one with allergies" John grinned, "Dad was allergic too". Harry smiled. "Did you guys enjoy trimming up then?"

"Yeah, it was good. Sherlock's never had a tree before so…"

"Never?"

"No, I had to buy one" John admitted sheepishly.

"Never had the time to 'trim up'" Sherlock said blandly, obviously disinterested with the subject, "Our tree ended up a little…unorthodox. And John does a rather charming jig to Christmas songs I must say". Sherlock smirked.

"Hey!" John cried, looking outraged. Harry laughed. "You got him on the eggnog then?" she said.

Sherlock nodded, grinning.

"Never seen John drunk before, any time of the year, but without fail, every Christmas, you let him touch the eggnog and he's gone" she giggled. Sherlock laughed. "I can believe that"

John was looking decidedly uncomfortable now, obviously not enjoying talk of his drunkenness at Christmas, especially not from his sister, who was taking another sip of her champagne.

"He dressed the flat up rather charmingly though," Sherlock said, changing the subject.

"He always did," Harry said, smiling, "He used to get the place all organised when mum and dad couldn't. He always made sure it looked nice". Sherlock nodded. He could imagine that. Even though John didn't see Harry that much, he still worried about her. He was the eldest after all. In a way, he was a little bit like Mycroft, Sherlock thought. He wondered if it was a big brother thing. He himself had never experienced that feeling at all. He wondered if it was a 'good' or 'bad' feeling. Maybe he would ask John about it later.

"Mind you," Harry continued, "John did have to take over after dad left for the army, mum was a bit-"

"Harry" John intersected, giving a little cough.

"What? It's not like it's a big secret or anything. If Mr. Holmes is a detective, I'm pretty sure he already knows, loosen up!"

"Harry, how much have you had to drink since we've been here?" Harry held up an empty glass.

"On that note," she said, getting up.

"Harry if you pour another glass then I won't forgive you for it. Not while Sherlock's here. Please?" Harry gave John as spiteful look. "I don't need advice from you, or _anyone_, big brother" she said icily. John looked at her pleadingly before his expression turned stern and there was a silence. Harriet Watson gets edgy around her drink, Sherlock thought, making a mental note in case he may ever need it. The silence lasted for a moment as the sibling exchanged icy glares, daring each other to back down. Sherlock decided that enough was enough. He was pretty sure that John would get upset if things carried on.

"Speaking of older brothers, I have family to visit also," he said, getting up, "We should be on our way. John?" John seemed to come to his senses and smiled, getting up as well.

"Er… I got you your Christmas present Harry, hope you like it" he said, handing her the package.

"Oh! I have yours just here; I had a party last night so it's either on the sofa or somewhere stupid like the pots and pans cupboard." She rooted around, finally drawing out a gift.

"Don't open it till Christmas" she smiled, giving him a peck on the check, and hugging Sherlock, a gesture that Sherlock wasn't expecting.

"I'm glad you came big brother, be sure to stop by anytime. And for heaven's sake, ring me, I worry about you!" John pulled a face and Harry slapped his arm lightly. "I mean it!"

"Sure, fine, okay"

They made their exit after a few swift goodbyes and caught the bus to the train station.

"That was fun" Sherlock said.

"Yeah, your turn next"

Sherlock stopped smiling.

* * *

"This is completely ridiculous John" Sherlock grumbles as John range the doorbell to the house.

"There's absolutely no point in me visiting home for Christmas". Actually, it wasn't a house at all, more of a mansion actually, John thought. Of course, John had thought that the house would be big, what with the size of money Mycroft had been willing to pay him when he had only just met him, never mind how much the man himself got paid. And there was no doubt that he would buy 'mummy' a nice big house too. But apparently, according to Sherlock, his father had been in the secret service as well, and his father before that. Holmes mansion had been in family for years. Apparently Sherlock had been somewhat of a disappointment to his father, having not followed his brother into the government as his father had wanted and had generally been disowned by his dad. John found it weird that Sherlock seemed to be allergic to talking about his brother, but didn't mind talking about what John would class as a painful memory, but John didn't see anything in Sherlock that suggested that he held any resentment. "Couldn't blame him" was all Sherlock had said on the matter.

John was about to ring the doorbell again when the door swung open, leaving John face to face with a very bored looking Mycroft. John himself had half expected a butler.

"John." Mycroft said, greeting him. John raised an eyebrow at Mycroft's cool demeanour but couldn't help but notice the older man's surprise at seeing his little brother standing grumpily behind John.

"And Sherlock! I must say, this is a surprise" Mycroft said, giving a charming smile that John recognised as totally fake.

"I don't know why it'd be a surprise Mycroft, you organised the thing" Sherlock said, equally as cool as his elder brother. It was Mycroft's turn to raise an eyebrow at John and Sherlock scoffed. "Don't look at him; it wasn't exactly a huge leap to deduce what you'd ask of him this time of year. The only question was when" he said, walking past Mycroft into the house, John in tail, ignoring all courtesy. Usually courtesy wasn't a major priority of the older Holmes brother.

John heard Mycroft close the door behind them, following Sherlock across an absolutely enormous reception room. John was almost disappointed not to see a marble staircase. He followed him to one of three doors and stepping aside to allow Mycroft to follow him in first before going in himself, closing the door behind him.

"I see you still haven't lost your way around the house yet Sherlock" Mycroft observed as Sherlock threw himself into the plush leather sofa, sitting in an almost slouched way, something John had never seen before. Even when Sherlock did 'slouch' his back was usually straight. There was always something quite elegant about Sherlock. Mycroft sat down on the leather armchair, beckoning John to sit on the sofa next to Sherlock, which he did.

"Hmm" Sherlock mumbled, "Always loved these sofas" Mycroft sighed. "Do either of you want anything to drink? I can get you anything you want, I'm sure we'll have it in the pantry"

"I sure you will" Sherlock snickered. Mycroft ignored him. "John?"

"Oh, er, no thank you, Mycroft. Erm, we've just been to my sisters so…"

"Ah yes, Harry. Of course". John didn't even bother to ask how he knew.

"Sure you don't want anything then?" John nodded.

"Oh do sit up Sherlock; it's not like you to slouch. You only do it to upset mummy." Mycroft snapped, looking impatiently at Sherlock

"I do it to upset you" Sherlock said, looking grumpily at Mycroft.

"Sherlock?" John stood up at the voice, recognising it as that of a rather aged woman, whom he saw as he turned to look at the side door behind them. She was about sixty years of age and small, much smaller than her two sons.

"Hello mother" Sherlock mumbled.

"Hello Sherlock dear. It has been such a long time dear. Who's your friend?" Mycroft stood up to let his mother sit down, opting to stand by the fireplace to observe the conversation.

"Mother, meet Doctor John Watson, he's a friend. Flatmate, actually. And John, this is my mother, Agatha Holmes." John reached out and shook the woman's hand, sitting back down again. It seemed that only Sherlock hadn't moved out of all of them. "Pleasure to meet you" he said.

"Flatmate? Ooh, that's nice Sherlock. You got yourself a flat then now? It's nice to hear you're doing well. Oh I am _so _glad you're here, I hardly ever hear from you. I sometimes wonder if it's my fault…"

Sherlock was looking unmoved by his mother's concern, so John gave him a quick poke in the ribs.

"It's not you mum," Sherlock eventually said, "It's him". He jabbed a thumb in Mycroft's general direction. Mycroft didn't even blink.

"Now, now dear, he is your brother". Sherlock snorted.

"Unfortunately. How's the prime minister these days Mycroft?" Sherlock said, smiling evilly. Mycroft stiffened. "Fine, thank you Sherlock." Sherlock looked at John who was smirking under his hand. He always enjoyed the exchanges between the Holmes brothers. They were a lively pair to say the least.

"And how's your job Sherlock, are you still working for Scotland Yard?"

Sherlock bristled. "I never worked for Scotland Yard mother. I'm a detective, a consulting detective"

"You had to get work experience to get to know people though you remember? You ended up working under Lestraude. You got to know him remember, before you started working on your own." Sherlock scowled. "Thank you for that mother" he said, glaring at John who was practically scarlet from holding in laughter. Oh how he would tease Sherlock for _that _when they got back to Baker Street. Sherlock leant in closer to him. "Laugh it up" he said under his breath, scowling darkly. John tried to sober up. And failed.

"So are you a doctor then Mr. Watson?" said Mrs. Holmes, smiling at John politely.

"Oh, yes, I'm… I was a doctor for the military"

"Ah yes, of course. That was until your leg wasn't it?" she said, still smiling. John looked surprised. He'd not been limping when he had entered, and she hadn't even seen him walk. He hadn't had a cane in months. "Oh, er, yes, I'm sorry how did you-"

Mrs. Holmes smiled. "You don't think I lived for all this time around my sons and not pick up a few tricks?" John smiled in surprise.

"It was their father's trade actually, not mine, but I could probably deduce about the alcoholic brother and the bad diagnosis you got from your physiatrist when you were shot"

"Sister" John said, "Harry's my Sister". Mrs. Holmes nodded, "Oh I am sorry dear. Living around this lot for so long I forget myself sometimes, how rude of me!"

"Oh no, it's okay, er… I'm sort of used to it" John admitted. Being around Sherlock for so long, John had grown to realise that he had pretty much no privacy when it came to the Holmes family and secrets were usually a rare luxury around Sherlock. He had grown used to the stated facts about his life, so much so that he was even correcting people now. I must be insane, John thought to himself.

Mrs. Holmes nodded again and smiled, leaning forward in her chair. "You're one of the few people I've heard say that," she said, still smiling warmly, "I'm glad there's finally someone to keep an eye on him". She motioned her head towards Sherlock who was looking sulkily at the floor, apparently barely listening to the conversation. "Mycroft tries his best bless him, but Sherlock's a bit of a loose wire. He takes a bit of looking after". John laughed. "Yeah, trying to get him to go out to buy milk is a nightmare" Mrs. Holmes nodded vigorously in agreement "He was the same even as a child. He was always very insular"

John looked at Sherlock sulking away. "I can imagine."

"So it's nice for someone to be there to look after him. It breaks my heart to know that he's on his own this time of year."

"I don't need a babysitter mother" Sherlock grumbled.

"Has he been eating properly?" Mrs Holmes asked, "He never eats properly. And especially at Christmas. He just buys himself a couple of selection boxes and munches through those. He's worse when he's got a case."

John had noticed the build up of selection boxes in the flat lately. "I do try to feed him" John said, feeling sheepish, "He's pretty hard to feed. He's picky about what he eats so-"

"Oh don't you start" Sherlock whined. Mycroft tittered from the fireplace.

"And I take it he hasn't been cleaning the flat either."

"He hung dead body parts by the oven as Christmas decorations". Mrs. Holmes giggled at that. "Oh Sherlock!"

"John let me do it!" He cried, pointing at John. It was remarkable how childish Sherlock could be without meaning to.

"Right, that's it we're leaving" Sherlock cried, standing up. Mycroft sighed. "Here he goes again" he said, just loud enough for John to hear. Sherlock seemed to gather himself.

"Merry Christmas mother" he said, giving his mum a peck on the cheek after a glare from John, "Mycroft". He nodded and walked out. John gave the two Holmes relative that remained a hopeless look.

"Sorry about Sherlock" he said.

"Oh never mind deary." Mrs Holmes said, "It's just how he is. He'll come round". John nodded. "Oh yeah, I have your presents here. I won't bother pretending that they're from Sherlock" he said, earning a grin from Mrs. Holmes.

"Well it's a good job he's got you then isn't it?" she smiled, taking the two gift bags. Mycroft's phone rang and he looked at the message. "Ah," he said, looking rather downhearted after reading the text, "looks like I'll be off too. Mummy, John" He bowed his head a little and left.

"Here," Mrs. Holmes said, handing John a slip of paper, "I'll keep it short since Sherlock's probably waiting outside, but I've written the house phone number on that and I want you to promise me something if you can". John nodded.

"Even if it's only once a month or once every two months, if you could get Sherlock to just call then…" John nodded. Sherlock might think of him a bit of a hypocrite when he didn't call Harry either, but this was his _mother _after all. John nodded. Even if it meant calling Harry every month too, he was pretty sure that if he could do it, Sherlock could.

"I promise," he said, taking the slip of paper, "I think both me and Sherlock need to try harder in the New Year."

Mrs. Holmes nodded, "Thank you dear". John gave her a peck on the cheek and turned to leave.

"You know, my husband was an alcoholic too you know," she said as he left, causing him to stop and turn around, "As a doctor you'll know it's not her fault. And you'll also blame her, believe me, I did it the hard way. But if you talk to her, even bit by bit, it'll help. I think this'll help you both, you know."

John nodded. It was something he hadn't expected, but it was everything he needed.

"John!" John turned as he heard Sherlock shouting from the hallway. He turned back to see that Mrs. Holmes had stood to see him out.

"Merry Christmas Mrs. Holmes" he said

"Merry Christmas Dr. Watson".

* * *

The sight of 221B Baker Street was a blessed sight to the both of them as they arrived back home in the back of a cab. It was even better once they were sat once again in their living room, the lights on the Christmas tree and mantelpiece glistening in the lamplight.

"Today was a bit of a nightmare" John said, resting his head back on the sofa. Sherlock gave an exhausted nod, but John was happy too. Perhaps next year, he really would make an effort with Harry. And he was hoping to make sure that Sherlock rang his mum _at least _once a month.

"Same again next year?" John asked turning his head to look at Sherlock, who looked back at him, tired beyond belief.

"Not a chance"

Lesson 3: How to visit family

Complete.

_Just a note: Yes, I named Sherlock's mum after Agatha Christie :-) _


	4. Chesnuts Roasting on an Open Fire

_Disclaimer: Again, don't own zilch. I'm a little sad about it really… :-( _

_Again up into the wee hours of the morn writing this. It's now 2:41 am and I feel ever so slightly dead. By the end I have forgotten the rules of any coherent language and have forgotten how to spell Sherlock. These are dark times indeed. Even darker when you consider I was looking up how to cook and stuff a turkey at 1:55 am. Okay, I've never cooked a turkey before! Sorry if I got anything wrong._

_XMillieX: Again, thanks for reviewing once more. I would pay to see that show on TV :-) I fconcur, Mycroft is immense. Hope you had a good Christmas day!_

_L: This chemistry lesson was still the funniest we've had. "It's a turkey" *Complete deadpan face* :-) Love you too L. _

_**Chestnuts roasting on an open fire **_

_**Lesson 4: Preparing the Christmas dinner**_

Christmas Eve. John had spent last Christmas Eve in a ditch in Afghanistan with 12 other depressed soldiers ducking bullets. Not that living with Sherlock was any less dangerous, John reflected, but he had noticed recently a strange era of calm in the flat. Apart from the string above the oven, John had found no dead body parts in the fridge _or _underwear drawer, there had been very little in the way of experiments, and Sherlock hadn't destroyed something of John's possession in five whole days. Perhaps things were looking up for the better, John thought.

"No! Of course it was the brother, are you blind? The jumper says more than enough!" Sherlock screamed at the TV. Or perhaps not, John thought. John had made toast for himself that morning and had sat down to check over the TV times when Sherlock had come in, looking tired with a particularly bad case of morning hair, refused any toast and sat down heavily in his chair, turning the TV onto Five USA to watch Oprah.

"Jeremy Kyle not on?" John asked, to which Sherlock shook his head. "It's been cancelled after the last show. Someone threw a shoe at Jeremy. He's taken the week off" he said, sounding most upset about the subject.

"I take it you didn't get much sleep last night then? _Again._" John said. Sherlock hadn't slept in three days and had merely said when John had asked him too, "Sleep is boring".

"Please tell me you weren't loosing sleep over Jeremy Kyle?" John smirked happily. Sherlock ignored him. "I solved the Barrow's case" he said dryly, ignoring John's obvious smirking. John looked at him in surprise. John hadn't even known that Sherlock was working on that case, he hadn't mentioned it. He had gone missing for an hour last night.

John had been making some dinner, ravioli actually, and had knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door. He had never been inside, but he'd seen it from the doorway before. It was just as messy as the rest of the flat.

"Sherlock?" John had shouting, knocking, "Do you want any of this ravioli?" No reply. John guessed that Sherlock was just being stubborn over eating. "Sherlock?" Still no reply. Frowning, John knocked a little harder and the door swung open.

"Sherlock?" John poked his head around the door. Nothing. The room was empty. "God, where has he got to now?" John had muttered to himself, going inside sheepishly. Of course, he had good reason to be worried, Sherlock was always getting into scrapes, and good reason to be in his room of course, but John still felt as if he was trespassing. Sherlock hadn't invited him in, and John felt awkward having gone inside uninvited. Not that Sherlock ever asked for his permission to go in _his _room. But still. That was when John had felt the light breeze to his left and saw the open window next to Sherlock's bed on the back wall, which led out onto the street behind 221B via a fire escape.

"Damn it" John growled looking down at the pan of ravioli he was still holding. He would have gone after him, but having no clue where he was, John didn't have much of a choice but to wait for him to come back. Which he had done, eventually, an hour later.

Obviously Sherlock had been on the case, John thought as he watched Sherlock giving glares at the TV. "They're all idiots" Sherlock said, sounding simultaneously shocked, disappointed and mildly amused all at the same time. John rolled his eyes, looking over as Sherlock's phone vibrated on the arm of the chair. Sherlock picked it up, still looking at the TV, quickly read the text and put it down once more.

"Who was it?" John asked, knowing that there were only really two people it could be, apart from perhaps a client.

"Lestraude" Sherlock said, sounding bored. John nodded. Then, "Oh God I forgot!" Sherlock looked over. "What?"

"I forgot to give Lestraude his present last time I saw him! Damn it!" John had bought Lestraude the gift a few weeks ago, but had since forgotten to give it to him.

"Just drop it off at his house" Sherlock said as if it was the most obvious thing he had ever said.

"Oh yeah, thanks Sherlock, I don't even know where Lestraude lives!"

"64 Maplewood Avenue." John looked at him, surprised, before turning cynical. "How on earth do you know that?"

"I have been to Lestraude's home before John, he is the detective inspector. I actually went last month to inform him about a case when he was off with the flu."

"Bet Lestraude loved that" John mumbled.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing." John gave him a funny look. "You going to Lestraude's though? You never visit anyone!"

"Work makes it necessary John" Sherlock said.

"Yeah right, as if. I bet if you turned up at Lestraude's right now he'd be more surprised than I am now"

"Really John, how ridiculous."

"I'd be willing to bet on it" John said, looking indignant. Sherlock looked at him slyly. "I really shouldn't bet on thing I know I'll win" Sherlock said, "It's unfair"

"Bet you a twenty" John said.

"Now, now John, I'm no gambler."

"Neither am I but I'm pretty sure you'll lose, so it's not much of a gamble is it?" Sherlock looked thoughtful.

"You win; I'll let you dissect that body you've wanted to take apart in the morgue on Boxing Day without telling you once not to put anymore explosives in the ear canal. You lose and you don't put any more chemicals on the kitchen side for a month"

Sherlock smiled. "Deal"

A few moments later they had caught a cab to 64 Maplewood Avenue and were soon standing outside a rather charming townhouse that Sherlock swore was Lestraude's. Sherlock rang the doorbell, smiling knowingly at John and a few moments later Lestraude appeared. John held his breath for the inspector's exclamation of surprise but was disappointed as the man took one look at Sherlock and his shoulder's sagged.

"Hey Sherlock" he said, opening the door wider to let them in, "Good morning John" he said as they entered.

"You surprised to see us?" John asked as he hung up his coat on a hook in the hallway.

"You, yes" Lestraude said, "Sherlock, no. He's just here to tell me about a case I expect since I took the day off work". Sherlock grinned and gave a "there you go" sort of look to John, who scowled.

"Can I use your computer Lestraude? I want to check something. It was the brother by the way, the killer. With the lawn mower". John raised a surprised eyebrow. Sherlock nodded happily and went off into the living room to sit down at Lestraude's PC.

"I won't bother telling him the password" Lestraude said with a sigh, "He probably already knows anyway". Sure enough the windows theme tune played and Lestraude nodded sadly. "Want anything to drink John?" he asked, leading him into the sitting room where they sat down on the white leather sofa, Sherlock tapping away in the corner.

"No I'm fine thanks Lestraude, just brought your Christmas present here" John said, putting the gift on the coffee table.

"Want anything Sherlock?" Lestraude said. Sherlock shook his head. "Didn't think so, never drinks after a case" Lestraude mumbled.

"So," Lestraude said, sitting back, "You two got anything planned for Christmas? I've got the kids you see, got 'em at home tomorrow". John smiled. "Nah, just Christmas dinner I think. Not got any family over or anything." Lestraude nodded.

"You've done him good" Lestraude said, gesturing to Sherlock who was sitting, oblivious and out of ear shot. John gave him a questioning look. "Done him good? How-"

"Well, he declined a case the other day" Lestraude said.

"So?" It was like Sherlock to decline cases that didn't interest him. One of the many perks of being the world's only consulting detective as Sherlock described it.

"It wasn't 'cos he wasn't interested." Lestraude said, looking expectantly at John.

"Then why-"

"Exactly! And he said that he didn't want to take it because he was spending Christmas with you and so he wasn't taking any new cases over Christmas! I never thought I'd see the day when Sherlock Holmes didn't take a case because he wanted to make someone else happy! I thought the day'd never come!"

John frowned. Come to think of it, Sherlock hadn't being doing experiments for the past couple of days either. And he had cleared the flat of dismembered body parts. John considered this. He wasn't sure if Sherlock was even familiar with the concept of a gift, but John knew for a fact that Sherlock wasn't the sociopath he made himself out to be. Sherlock Holmes had given him, John Watson, a gift. Sherlock probably saw no point in trivial material items, much like John himself only ever bought practical gifts, but whether he had intended to or not, Sherlock had obviously made a conscious effort, had decisively declined the case… so that he could spend time with John over Christmas. He smiled, looking over to where Sherlock was sat by the PC. He wouldn't let anyone else know the other stuff Sherlock had done, like clearing up the flat two days ago. If Sherlock wanted people to think he was a "high functioning sociopath", that he didn't care, it was John's job to make sure no-one knew about Sherlock's effort. That would be how Sherlock would want it.

Looking over at the younger man, he realised that he still hadn't thought of a good enough present for him. It was Christmas Eve already, and he still hadn't a clue. Sherlock was without a doubt the hardest person John had ever bought a present person. After finding out the date from Mycroft, John had bought Sherlock unlimited texts for two years for his birthday and Sherlock had been truly surprised to even receive a gift from the ex-soldier, let alone when he discovered the little cake, balloons and banner decorating the flat. John found it shocking that nobody, except from Mycroft's almost corporate looking Birthday card, had bought Sherlock anything for his birthday and had been even more shocked to discover tat Sherlock hadn't even expected John to bother even finding out about the date of his birthday, let alone buy him a gift.

"Of course I bought you something," John had said, "I'm you're flatmate". "You're my friend" he clarified after Sherlock gave him a puzzled look. This time though, John had no idea what to buy the young detective.

He had considered a new coat or scarf at first but had soon dismissed the idea after seeing Sherlock's small collection of such items. He had thought of getting him a few extra vials of ammonia as he always seemed to be experimenting with the stuff but he had quickly sought to forget that idea after finding the burn marks in his jeans and had rowed with Sherlock about the dangers of acidic substances. In fact, John had struggled to think of anything to get him. Now however, John had had a great idea. He smiled. Roll on Christmas day he thought, grinning.

They left Lestraude's about half an hour later after meeting his very lovely wife Melissa.

"You made the bet just so that I'd go to Lestraude's with you didn't you?" Sherlock said as they sat in the taxi on the way home.

"Yup. And you texted Lestraude in the taxi there to tell him not to be surprised because it was a bet. I saw you do it" John said. Sherlock chuckled. "We may make a detective out of you yet".

* * *

Christmas Eve night started off pretty quiet. At least as quiet as Baker Street usually was on a normal night. Sarah had popped in earlier to drop off her present and Sherlock had hid himself in his room for the duration of her stay and it was around 8 o' clock that John decided that since Sherlock was going to be of no help at all, he had better start getting ready for the Christmas dinner. Considering that he had never done it before, John was anxious to get started, having bought all of the ingredients two days ago, checked the list three times and had received a turkey from Mrs. Hudson yesterday when she had discovered that he was cooking the Christmas dinner.

"I'll cook a pudding" she had said, handing him the most enormous turkey John had ever seen.

Getting up, he had left Sherlock to his strictly come dancing special and cleaned the vegetables, starting to peel and chop. _Potatoes, sprouts, carrots, parsnips. _John checked off the list in his mind. He didn't know if Sherlock even liked any of those. John could imagine a younger version of Sherlock pouting over being told to eat sprouts. John smiled.

"What are you smiling at?" Sherlock said from his chair, looking inquisitively at him.

"Oh, nothing". He'd have to ask Mycroft about those Christmas dinners he'd mentioned.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs. "John! Will one of you come and help me with these Christmas lights? They've gone off. Sherlock looked at John. John looked at Sherlock. John looked at the vegetables and bowl of stuffing he was halfway through making. Sherlock got up.

"I don't even like Christmas lights" Sherlock grumbled, tramping down the stairs. John smiled, satisfied. _Remove giblets from turkey stomach._ _Stuff turkey with sage stuffing and secure with skewer. _John looked at the turkey in disgust.

"You have _giblets?_" he said, disgusted. In all his time in military service, he had never thought that he would be removing giblets from a dead turkey. He tried not to think of the many people who would laugh if they saw him, Mrs. Hudson's pink apron on, hand pulling out giblets from a turkey. Eventually he was done. Crouching down he drew eye level with the turkey, looking into the very unappetising rear end of his turkey.

"Er…I don't know quite how to do this, so er… I'll just try to be gentle" he said, recognising his insanity as he talked to the dead bird, picking up a handful of stuffing.

Sherlock could not have come in at a worse moment, John later reflected. There he was, pink apron on as instructed, hand stuck inside the rear end of a Christmas turkey. And he had joked about Sherlock ripping his clothes of at the swimming pool that time.

"Ah" Sherlock had said as he stopped dead after dashing back into the lounge. John froze and for a moment they just stared at each other. Actually John was staring at Sherlock, but Sherlock was staring more at the turkey.

"Well. This is awkward." Sherlock said.

"It's this God damn turkey! It's taking me ages. It's been defrosting since last night! I had to clean it, take the bits that you can't eat off, stuff it with this stuff and have you seen the amount of time it takes to cook one of these things?"

Sherlock came to stand next to him as John finished up the stuffing. Sherlock leaned over, taking a look inside the freshly stuffed turkey with a disdainful look. "That looks disgusting" Sherlock said. John splatted him with a bit of stuffing. "Of course it looks disgusting Sherlock, it's not even cooked yet!" Sherlock shrugged, standing up straight again. John flipped a page on the cookbook and was faced with the most complicated graphs he'd ever seen. A few moments of heated discussion later and John finally admitted "So really we have no idea how long to cook this thing for? I think my military mission plans were easier to understand than that graph thing and they were encoded!" he said, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Look" he said, turning the book around to face Sherlock. "It says here to cook it for 4 hours and 45 minutes but when you work it out by poundage it's only 3 hours 45 minutes. And that doesn't include the legs!" Sherlock leant down again to look closely at the turkey. "Let's think about this logically" he said, deadpanning.

"It's a turkey Sherlock, it's not rocket science".

Sherlock glared at him.

"I'll put it in for four and a quarter and see how it goes" John said, sighing. It actually took them 15 minutes to get the turkey in the oven and Sherlock suggested getting out his 'scientific' blowtorch, which John immediately declined, but they eventually got it in and through the oven door John could only see the mass of meat that was surely going to burn no matter what he did. Panting, they stood to apprise the rest of the recipe.

"Right. Only the Yorkshires now and the gravy and we're done". Sherlock looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and then went to watch Jamie Oliver's Christmas feast. John sighed. Right. Onion gravy… this'd be fun.

Lesson 4: How to make a Christmas dinner

Complete

* * *

_Don't know if anyone caught the line from the film Brother's Grimm. :-D Love that film. Hope everyone had a great Christmas day!_


	5. All I want for Christmas is you

Disclaimer: I still don't own zilch. This is getting depressing saying this every time. I wish I owned at least something.

_Sorry in advance to anyone who lives in Australia, yours was the first country I thought of_

_A few more mentions:_

_Reflekshun: Thanks for all of your reviews, they mean a lot to me and I enjoyed sharing it!_

_XMillieX: As always thanks for all of you're reviews, you are a Christmas angel :-) Thanks so much and I hope to hear from you again someday!_

_And to everyone who read and reviewed: thanks for all of your reviews and I'll love to hear from you on any of my future fanfictions :-) _

_**All I want for Christmas is you**_

_**Lesson 5: Giving gifts**_

Christmas day went pretty much how John had expected, h thought as he got up to clear the plates. Mycroft had come to drop off cards in the morning, much to Sherlock's displeasure.

"Hello John, Sherlock" Mycroft had said as he had come in, handing them both gift bags and cards, "Merry Christmas".

"Oh, yeah, hey Mycroft. Same to you. Er, are you staying?" John had said, not expecting the eldest Holmes brother to have invited himself in.

"No, I'm afraid not," Mycroft said glumly, "The Australian ambassador is having trouble again. There's no rest for the wicked I'm afraid."

"You can say that again" Sherlock sulked, "Why are you even here Mycroft, we saw you yesterday!"

"I didn't have time to go home and get stuff yesterday" Mycroft explained coolly. Sherlock folded his arms across his chest defensively.

"Anyway little brother, enjoy your Christmas with Doctor Watson. It's a while since you spent Christmas with anybody" Mycroft smiled debonairly.

"I'd spend more time with you if you weren't so annoying" Sherlock grumbled. Mycroft heaved a sigh. "He's always like this" Mycroft said forlornly to John who shrugged.

"Anyway, merry Christmas Sherlock. You too John, I will see you in the New Year once the Australian counsel have stopped bickering amongst themselves". Sherlock grunted in acknowledgment.

"Oh yeah, you too Mycroft," john said, shaking his hand. He had left at that, and Sherlock perked up as soon as we left, chattering away to John about a killer he had caught in Siberia once while John made the finishing touches to the Christmas dinner.

They spent the morning opening gifts from Mycroft and Lestraude and of course Mrs. Hudson who had knitted them jumpers, a maroon one for Sherlock, and a bottle green one for John, and watching reruns of Christmas Eastenders on the TV. Sherlock didn't mention anything of his efforts at keeping trouble to a minimum for John while they opening presents, so John just smiled and didn't mention it either.

Mrs. Hudson joined them for Christmas dinner at around 1 o' clock and brought trifle. To John's utter amazement, and Sherlock's for that matter, John's turkey didn't burn after all and even the vegetables turned out o.k. Not that Sherlock noticed, as he only ate the carrots and, after much prodding from Mrs. Hudson, a sprout.

"Bad news for brainwork" Sherlock had said, referring to the vegetables. John on the other hand merely felt that it was like, as Lestraude had said on their first case, dealing with a child. Sherlock had, of course, had seconds on his trifle.

John had been pretty amazed that Sherlock had eaten at all in fact. He hadn't eaten since two days ago however, and John guessed that Sherlock was celebrating the end of his last case with food, as was Sherlock's way. Come tomorrow John would be begging him to eat the leftover turkey and Sherlock probably wouldn't touch it for days to come, by which time it would be mouldy. John didn't like to imagine the amount of turkey sandwiches he and Mrs. Hudson would be having. Maybe he would bring them to the police station on the next case? It'd be a tad inappropriate, but the turkey had to go somewhere. Lestraude was probably going to beat him to it though, John thought despondently.

Mrs. Hudson had gone out to her friends soon after and it was getting dark outside. John was in the kitchen, washing up, and Sherlock was sat at the kitchen table that they had eventually managed to clear for the Christmas dinner, stuffing most of the stuff into Sherlock's room, which Sherlock had complained immensely about. John looked over as he heard Sherlock's phone buzzed and he looked over the younger man's shoulder as he flipped up his phone.

_Tracked the group of criminals to hideout in central London. They're on the run, they heard about us finding them._

_May need help._

_Lestraude._

Sherlock sniffed, looking disgruntled, but John felt him looking as he turned around to clean up the dinner plates. Remembering his promise to himself about not bothering John over Christmas, as his own little gift, he sighed and typed:

_Having Christmas dinner with John. Can't come. Good Luck with it._

_SH_

John turned round just in time to see the text as it left for sending. John felt himself smiling. Perhaps now was the time that he should give Sherlock his present.

"Hey, Sherlock" John said, coming to stand in front of the detective, "You probably won't admit it, but I've noticed you know. The tidying up, the missing body parts, the lack of experiments, you not taking that last case". Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but John held up a hand.

"And it was the best thing you could have done for me" he said. Sherlock's ears seemed to turn pink and John grinned.

"But, I'll tell you what. It's going to be my present to you. You don't have any more experiments or dead bodies around till January still and I'd be happy to go with you on the case tonight". Sherlock's face lit up. "Really?" he cried, leaping up.

"Really" John said. Sherlock grinned ecstatically and leapt to grab his coat.

"And a merry Christmas to you too John!" he cried, pulling on his coat. John sighed. So much for the normal Christmas he had planned.

* * *

A few moments later, John was chasing criminals once again through the nighttime streets of London.

"Come on John, keep up!" Sherlock cried.

"Easy for you to say, you do this practically every day!" John shouted to him as he ran. John managed a smile. Perhaps it's not exactly how I'd planned, John thought, but I really think there's nothing else I'd much rather do Christmas night. He looked up ahead at Sherlock running down the frost covered lane. Or for that matter, he thought, anyone else I'd rather share it with.

* * *

Sherlock contemplated the whole Christmas thing as he led John full speed through the streets of London. It's snowed, and people liked that, right? Sherlock still wasn't keen. Cold, wet and far too bright, Sherlock thought. And visiting Mycroft and mummy had been a nightmare. And cooking Christmas dinner had been more tiring than he'd expected. So why the big deal? It was just another time of the year. He felt John catching up behind him. His eggnog loving, Christmas crazy, ordinary, organized, caring plain old flatmate. _**His**_eggnog loving, Christmas crazy, ordinary, organized, caring plain old flatmate, Sherlock thought. He thought mildly of the fight over the skull, the snowball fight, John laughing at his Santa hat, falling asleep on the sofa and cooking the turkey together. And strangely enough, Sherlock couldn't wait till next year. Well, Sherlock thought, maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Final lesson: How to give gifts and hold Christmas close

Complete.

_And so I bring us to the end of our angelic lessons my dear ones, and all has been learnt. I hope you keep Christmas I your hearts forever and remember to keep Sherlock somewhere special too! Merry Christmas! _

_Yours truly, _

_Storystuff_


End file.
